I pulled my sketchbook from my satchel and flipped to the pages I had worked up in colored pencil. I had chosen a palette of blues and greens from viridian to ultramarine. Instead of fish populating the underwater alien world, I had drawn sea monkeys.
“Fantastic,” said Tinsley. “I wonder if we could get readymade costumes like these creatures? Brilliant adaptation of my ideas, Miss Tucker.”
My theatrical contribution to Romeo and Juliet was sea monkeys.
I walked to the lowered backdrop. “I’ve never painted anything this big. I’m looking forward to it.”
Tinsley scooted closer to me. “And how goes the other front?” he whispered. “Any news on our phantom?”
“I’m working on it, but I keep uncovering other oddities. You heard about us catching your drama students in the memorial garden last night?”
“An unfortunate incident. I spoke to them this morning. Thankfully, my students are not versed in drug culture and were taken for saps by a nefarious miscreant who trades in the vile stuff.”
“Preston King? He’s not in school today.”
Tinsley darted a look toward his students and scooted closer. “Camille lets him get away with murder.”
“Murder?”
“I am prone to exaggeration. She covers for him.”
“Dr. Vail’s out today, too.”
“Really? How odd.” Tinsley rubbed his beard. “Something I said? No matter.”
“Do you know Preston King well? Does he sell other drugs besides fake shrooms?”
“There are all manner of rumors, but he’s never been caught. Unfortunately, these children have money and much freedom. Where there’s money and freedom, they find all sorts of negative ways to recreate.”
“How about prescription drugs? ADHD meds? Does Preston sell drugs like that?”
Tinsley shrugged. “It would not surprise me in the least. That particular student has placed a pall over our fair school. Do you believe Preston King is the Phantom?”
“Not sure about that.” I turned to gaze at Tinsley’s supposed angelic students, wondering if Maranda Pringle would have bought Strattera from Preston.
If proven, it could jerk a knot in the drug peddling tail at Peerless. But I was not hired to bust drug dealers. Tinsley wanted the Phantom.
“Listen, I’ve been talking to the cops. You and the other teachers need to report your texts as cyberstalking. Prosecute this guy for real.”
“This is why I am paying you, so I don’t have to involve the police. Peerless doesn’t need the negative publicity. We shouldn’t have to suffer the arrows and daggers of gossip when we’re at competition. Not only could it skew the judges’ opinion, it distracts the students from their work.”
He turned toward his students. Their ice cream-selves having melted, they now played with their phones on the floor. “Rehearsal begins next period. The advanced choir is joining us to begin work on the musical.”
“Sounds good. I want to speak with other teachers about the anonymous messaging. But if you have the materials, I may as well start painting now.”
“I’ll have your assigned assistant ready the paint for you. Whatever we don’t have, I’ll order.” He approached the students and began to direct them into another activity.
I still didn’t understand his reluctance to report to the police. Weren’t the students already distracted from their work?
Why would drama judges care that some prankster had stalked Peerless? I hoped Max’s investigation into Tinsley turned up the reason for his recalcitrance. Tinsley looked to beat both me and Tater the goat in stubbornness.
And that was saying something.
I wandered to a bathroom to change into painting gear. My usual wife beater and cut-offs felt inappropriate for public, particularly in a high school, so I had brought a pair of overalls and an old Tybee Island t-shirt featuring a Tybee turtle holding a Solo cup. My overalls’ bib hid the Solo cup.
When I returned to the stage, the bell had rung, signaling the next class, and Laurence waited for me with a cart filled with buckets of the acrylic theater paint. Laurence also wore old jeans and a t-shirt. I had a feeling he volunteered for set painting just to get out of wearing his uniform.
“Ready to get your art on?” I grinned.
“I am ready to do the necessary steps to get my theater credits,” said Laurence. “Your Tom Sawyer whitewashing attempts will not sway me to do more than that.”
This was going to be a long two weeks of painting.
I explained the concept of crosshatching fat Xs on the hanging muslim to apply a base coat of cobalt blue turquoise. While he slapped Xs, I examined the rotating pillars and began to cover their three sides in a neutral base coat. Shoved together, one side of the pillars would show the Capulet’s high-tech underwater alien home. Another side would portray a street scene. Instead of a medieval castle town, I would paint futuristic bubble homes for the singing sea monkeys. The last scene would be the Friar’s monastery. As a spacey techno dance club.
I kept my opinions to myself since I knew diddly about theater.
While Laurence and I did the drudgery of base coats upstage, rehearsals began downstage. The chorus teacher, Leah’s cousin Faith Bairburn, had brought in a group to huddle around a piano. They stumbled through a medley of pop songs Tinsley had pieced together for the musical numbers. The chosen Romeo, mop-topped Layton, crooned “You’re the First, the Last, My Everything” to Hayden, his giggly, red-headed Juliet.
I concentrated splitting my focus between Laurence’s painting and the balcony, seeking any spying phantoms. When the next bell rang, I snagged Faith Bairburn before she could leave, introducing myself as Leah’s friend. She had an upper girth to accommodate a powerful voice, but moved with the grace and rhythm of a dancer. All hidden beneath a floral tent of a dress. Seemed all the Bairburn’s shopped in the same stores and with the same intent.
“Hey, Cherry.” Faith offered me a cheery smile that also reminded me of Leah’s, then hugged me. “I heard you’re fixing to help Tinsley figure out who’s sending all these horrible messages. Let me know what I can do to help.”
“Have you received any?”
She hesitated. “Well, yes, but they were so ridiculous, I didn’t even respond.”
“Did you keep them? The police need to see one.”
“No, honey. I delete trash. The message was so far-fetched. Something about seeing me dance in a stripper bar.” She laughed. “Obviously, they don’t know the Bairburns well.”
The Bairburns could straighten rulers with their morals. Leah, the church choir director, was considered the black sheep. Only because she hung out with me and sang in Todd’s band.
“Now that’s just silly. I’m glad you weren’t offended.”
Her teeth shone white with her chuckle. “I was too busy laughing to be offended. If the rest of the staff were the same way, they’d probably quit getting texts, too. Unfortunately, maybe they have more to hide.”
“Do you know if Ms. Cooke’s gotten any texts?”
“When I told her about mine, she indicated she had gotten one, too. ‘A ludicrous assumption,’ Brenda had said.”
“I thought as much. How about other teachers? Everyone’s keeping quiet, and I have nothing to go on.”
Faith pulled the sheet music to her ample chest and thought for a moment. “Tinsley’s been the most vocal. He brought it up in the faculty meeting. The librarian received a message as silly as mine. She also deleted it.”
“How about Miss Pringle? Does anyone know for sure if she received a text? Or what it said?”
“Oh, she got one all right.” Faith shook her head. “That poor child. Found her crying in the staff bathroom. Something about an inappropriate relationship with a parent.”
I studied Faith to see if
she believed the truth of the text Maranda Pringle had received. She didn’t. Just like Leah, she believed the best in people. I hugged Faith.
“Thanks, honey,” she said. “I feel real bad about Maranda. Maybe I could have said something to her that would have snapped her out of whatever funk she had fallen in. Despair is the devil’s instrument.”
“Miss Faith, let me know if you hear about anyone else getting texts. And if you can convince them to go to the police, that would be a lot of help.”
“I will, baby. Now I’ve got to get to class. If you don’t sit on these students, they just squirm out the door, looking for trouble.” She laughed and sauntered away, her hips rotating beneath the floral drapery.
I glanced around the empty theater, then squinted up into the dark balcony. Why discredit these teachers when they hadn’t done anything? Or had they? Certainly not Miss Faith, but what about the Tinsleys, Vails, and Pringles who seemed to react to the messages?
Sometimes smoke does reveal fire.
It also bothered me that I couldn’t get a good picture of Maranda Pringle. Was she a harlot or just misunderstood? Why did she leave such a boring suicide note?
Where had she gotten the ADHD medicine? And why take it and Xanax when she had a prescription for Zyban? I needed to learn more about Pringle.
Four people might have answers. Her friend Olivia who worked at Little Verona’s. Grieving Principal Cleveland. Coach Andy Newcomb, who according to Cleveland, had been recently stepping out with Miss Maranda.
And Dan Madsen.
Before leaving the school, I found Scott Fisher in his classroom. He wore a white lab coat and his short, brown hair had a tousled look, like he often ran his fingers through his hair.
The Expo marker smudges on his forehead provided further proof. I knocked, entered the classroom, and closed the door behind me.
Framed in the picture window, he looked up from his desk where he chewed on a pen and appeared to be sorting through a large stack of notebooks.
I scooted between the lab tables to his desk, considering ways to make him admit he’d been ghost texted. I decided on a kernel of truth approach, as I couldn’t admit going through his desk and finding the printed out text messages.
“Hey, Mr. Fisher.” I introduced myself as Tinsley’s set director.
“So Tinsley’s been hassled by this anonymous texter.” I leaned over his desk, trying my best wheedling look. “I want him to go to the police, but he won’t do it. I thought if other teachers were getting hassled and they went forward, maybe he would, too. It’s considered cyberstalking.”
Fisher stuck his pen behind his ear. “I’m sorry to hear he’s having this problem.”
“What about you? Are you having any problems?”
He fixed his gaze on a molecular model hanging behind my head. The pen slipped off his ear and fell to the floor. Fisher bent over to search for the pen under his desk. “I’m fine,” he called from beneath his desk. “No problems.”
I crossed my arms and waited for his head to reappear from beneath the desk. “Are you sure? It’s not like the text messages have to be true to be considered stalking.”
“No. No messages.”
Narrowing my eyes, I fixed him with a hard stare. “Really? I thought I saw someone in your room last night. I was here after hours helping Tinsley after the auditions.”
His brown eyes widened, causing the pupils to shrink to pencil nubs. “My grade book is missing.”
“Someone stole your grade book?” I didn’t have time for the Case of the Missing Grade Book. I also didn’t have time for the Case of the Pervy Teacher, but I’d have to make the time. This guy was not going to admit he’d been accused of messing around with a student. If he had, I’d turn him in. And probably threaten to shoot him. Then, I might do just that if the student’s parents didn’t first. But if he was innocent and I turned him in, I could ruin his life.
Dammit. Why couldn’t anyone be honest with me? I’d have to resort to lying. “Listen, Mr. Fisher. I’ve heard you’ve gotten texts. I’m close to the Sheriff’s Office. We need to crack down on this cyberbullying thing and I’m going to give them a list of everyone who’s been harassed.” I paused to let him volunteer information.
He nodded, glanced at the notebook on his desk, and drew a big checkmark on the page with his wayward pen.
I felt ready to walk around his desk, grab the moldy banana, and smack him with it. “Let me put this to you another way. Are you fooling around with a student?”
The color drained from his face. The pen dropped from his hand and rolled off the desk. He made a move to bend over, but I held up a hand to stop him.
“Mr. Fisher, you are forcing me into a difficult position. There is no point in lying about the texts, unless you are guilty. And if you’re guilty, I’m declaring a citizen’s arrest and hauling your ass to jail.”
“Why would you say that?” He spit the words out like he was choking and his face purpled. “It’s a big misunderstanding.”
My eyes narrowed and my chest heaved.
Behind me, the classroom door slammed open. “I’m going home with Chantelle.”
Fisher gulped air and turned toward the door.
With my fists clenched at my side, I eased to face the student.
A young girl dressed in the Peerless uniform tossed a backpack on a lab table and looked up. “What’s going on?” Her face scrunched tight. “Who’re you?”
“Cherry Tucker,” I said. “I’m working in the drama department.”
“Right,” she said. “I heard about you. What are you doing in here?”
I glanced at Fisher. The purple had faded to a carmine pink, and he had collapsed in his chair. “I’m wondering that about you. How do you know Mr. Fisher?”
She shrugged. “He’s a teacher.”
“That he is,” I said. “Are you in his chemistry class?”
“Chloe,” Fisher said. “She heard about the accusations. I told you it was a bad idea. We can’t hide this anymore.”
I tightened my fists and stepped around the desk to stand next to Fisher.
Chloe looked from Fisher to me, shaking her head. “No. You promised. Everyone will know. They’ll treat me differently.”
“I’m fixing to call the police in two seconds, Chloe,” I ground out the words, willing my fist not to slam into Fisher’s face in front of the girl. “You don’t have to tell me anything, but you’re going to have to talk to them. This is seriously wrong.”
She blanched. “I didn’t think...”
“She’s my step-daughter,” blurted Fisher. “Chloe doesn’t want any of the students to know. It’s innocent. Someone saw her getting into my car. The staff knows, just not the students.”
I unclenched my fists, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “Okay then.” I bit my lip so I wouldn’t let out a string of curses in front of Chloe and took another deep breath before continuing. “Chloe, honey?”
“Yeah?” She stared daggers at Mr. Fisher, full of fifteen-year-old piss and vinegar.
“That’d be a yes, ma’am.” My voice caused her to peel her gaze off Fisher and stick it on me.
Her eyes widened and voice shook. “Yes, ma’am.”
“I almost got your stepdaddy in a crapload of trouble. Like lose his job and go to jail trouble. Is Mr. Fisher a nice guy? Does he treat you and your momma well?”
“Yes, ma’am.” She found interest in her backpack strap and focused on winding it around her finger.
“I’m guessing you couldn’t go to this school unless he was teaching here. Am I right?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Then put on your big girl pants and own up to having such a nice stepdaddy. Someone out there is spreading ugly rumors. Rumors that can cause really bad things to happen.
You want that to happen to him?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Do you know who is spreading those rumors? Some kid having fun on his computer?”
“I don’t know.” Her cheeks flared. “Scott’s cool. But his class is hard. Some students have pressured another teacher’s kid to help them cheat. I don’t want to deal with that, so I asked Scott not to tell anyone he’s married to my mom.”
I patted Fisher on the shoulder with a trembling hand. “Sorry about that, Mr. Fisher. I have a tendency to get overprotective in certain situations. No harm done.”
He mopped his face with his hand. “Where did you hear about this?”
I stopped my trek toward the door and turned back to face him. “You got texts just like the other teachers, didn’t you?”
“I figured it was Preston King, trying to blackmail me so I ignored them. He’s flunking my class and won’t graduate if he doesn’t pass. After the nine weeks grade report, he threatened to do something to me. I told Ms. Cooke what had happened and showed her the texts. I assumed she took care of it.”
I whirled away from Scott Fisher, pulled out my phone, and ran out the door.
Twenty-Two
I dialed Herrera as I scurried to the office. He must have learned my number, because he answered with a familiar, “What now?”
Too many people answered my calls like that.
“Rumor has it this Preston King is running a drug cartel at Peerless.”
“We picked him up last night, but his parents lawyered up and got him out. We couldn’t hold him on selling fake drugs, but I’m working on a warrant to search his room. His lawyer said it was a prank, but the kids who bought his mushrooms gave us all kinds of interesting information about Preston. They stole a grade book in exchange for the mushrooms.”
“It was probably Scott Fisher’s grade book. I hope you get something on Preston. But it’s really hard to tell rumors from fact at this school and all my intel on Preston King is gossip. Do you think he could be our phantom texter?”
DEATH IN PERSPECTIVE Page 18